


Slave's story

by reysadvent



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Backstory, Childhood, F/F, F/M, Multi, Teen Angst, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-16 13:44:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16087301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reysadvent/pseuds/reysadvent
Summary: 'Always make yourself seen, even if it requires your last ounce of living life'. Elara wish she could live by her mother’s words, but she doesn't bother with things.  Elara is more like her father; tired, in the soul.





	Slave's story

**Author's Note:**

> Hello so i guess this is like a try out thing. I will write more of this story but I have a bad case of writer block. Give me feedback! Tell me if you like it or something, it would help motivate me sooooo much! <3

The slums of Nar Shaddaa was nothing in compare to the current state of the refugee sector.

Sure, the streets there was also covered in human vomit, alien slime and other unidentifiable substances, but there was space, more space.

Everyone sat on the metal ground, only the most ill were entitled to beds. Vapor made its way out of peoples mouths and noses. It was mostly silent, people talked in whispers only. It was like a funeral, and in a way it was. Most people came from dead worlds, plagued by toxins or even devoured by a neighbor perhaps. The tides of war can be predicted but can rarely be stopped.

_There will always be a opposing side_ . The words of her mother always echoed in her head, she was the wisest of them all, Elara thought. _Its us and them_. That’s the little girls sentiment. Those in the refugee sector of Nar Shaddaa where a doomed kind. Most would die there, perhaps of the rakghoul plague, or by just a common fever, forgotten by the humanitarian volunteers, in the pit of sickness.

_Always make yourself seen, even if it requires your last ounce of living life._ Elara wish she could live by her mother’s words, but she doesn't bother with things. Unlike her mother, who would fuss about the most unimportant things. Elara is more like her father; tired, in the soul. But her mind is clear, she could still sense that everyone was being watched, Slave Traders looking for pray, or what they would call’ recruits’, volunteers pondering how to help as many as possible, Republic troopers trying to maintain some sort of measure of calm and order. There were probably even Imperial spies blended into the mass, and crime syndicates looking to scam people. They were truly an odd bunch.

“Republic troops… huh” Her father scoffed, under a piece of dried meat stuffed in his mouth.

“Sons of hutts ‘noble’ my ass.” Elara’s mother paid no attention only a fake automatic response left her mouth.

She was busy writing something on a datapad, that she had got permission to borrow from a man. She had followed her mother around that day, to trade medicine for food. Their family had received vaccine, because of their small child. Shielding the young was important, but Elara wasn't sick, she was hungry. They were going to have to take the risk.

She couldn't be any happier than now, gnawing on a piece of dry jerky. It tasted virtually nothing but salt, but it filled her stomach. She curled up against her father, smelling concrete and metal from his fleece, taking his arm and wrapping it around herself. It was getting colder in the entire sector, that meant it was getting late. She soon slumbered, perfectly childlike in her father's arms.

       


End file.
